


The Plunge

by MandaScooby



Category: Psych
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-05-30 19:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15103844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandaScooby/pseuds/MandaScooby
Summary: It's Shawn and Juliet's wedding day, and Gus and Lassie have been kidnapped! No Slash. (AU from the movie.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Psych or any of its characters.

Gus glanced at his watch as he exited the building. He couldn't believe that of all the people who would disappear or stall the wedding, that it was Lassie he had been sent to track down. But he took his duty as best man very seriously, and would grab the police-chief-turned-groomsman and drag him by the necktie if that's what it would take to get this wedding off without a hitch. One of the ushers had claimed to have last seen the missing man talking to "a caterer or florist or something" outside.

Gus rounded the corner to the venue's parking area just in time to see a tall man in blue coveralls stick a syringe into Carlton Lassiter's neck, not ten feet away. Lassie went limp almost immediately and another man appeared from out of a small truck to grab the unconscious man's feet.

Gus was frozen to the spot. Should he run? Call for backup? This was a wedding party full of armed cops and former cops. He knew that it would do no good for him to confront them alone.

Unfortunately, that decision was made for him as his phone began chiming a marimba tune.

The two goons, who'd just unceremoniously dumped his friend into their truck, immediately honed in on him. A scream caught in Gus's throat, coming out a strangled squeak.

Without a word to each other, the two large men descended on the best man. Gus struck out blindly, thought he may have even landed a blow to one of their faces, but there was nothing he could do to stop the attack. He was outnumbered. One had him around the middle and was pulling him off his feet. The pavement steadily rose up to meet him, and Gus tried to throw out his arms to stop his descent, but they were pinned to his sides by his assailant. Gus's head struck the concrete.

"No such thing as too much collateral," one of the men said.

"Gives them more incentive," the other agreed.

Gus fought to stay conscious, but the pain and dizziness won out as he was hauled from the ground, and he passed out before they even threw him in the truck.

* * *

Shawn Spencer had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Despite his eight year charade, he had to admit he was no psychic, but he could just sense that something was amiss. It wasn't like Lassiter to just disappear, and Gus should have found him, or at least reported back by now. When Gus's phone went to voicemail after several rings, Shawn decided to get a second opinion. Maybe he was just experiencing some classic cold feet paranoia. That was a thing, right?

He rapped lightly on the door to the bridal room where Juliet was hidden away.

"Who is it?" A sing-song voice asked, Juliet's maid of honor.

"It's Shawn," he replied, trying to keep the edge out of his voice, "I need to talk to Jules."

"Oh, well in that case, go away. It's bad luck for a groom to see his bride on their wedding day!"

"Jules! It's really important!" Shawn called again, this time turning the knob and pushing the door open. It only moved a few inches before being blocked.

The maid of honor, one of the officers at the San Francisco precinct, was pushing back with all her strength. "Whatever it is you think you need to say can wait until after the vows."

"Gus and Lassie are missing! I'm going to find them!" Shawn called over her, hoping his bride-to-be would hear.

"It's probably nothing," he added, trying to reassure himself.

Shawn grunted in frustration, and with closed fists marched away from the door, making his way to the elevator. He pulled his phone from his pocket and demanded the device call Gus once more.

"Ok, calling, Gus," the nice sounding automated voice replied.

"You've reached Burton Guster, I'm terribly sorry that-"

Shawn jabbed at the screen until the call ended. No rings. Straight to voicemail. He  _really_  didn't feel good about this.

He bounced on his heels while he waited for the lift to open, wondering if the stairs would have been quicker.

"Shawn!" His dad appeared, and was jogging towards him. Yup, should have taken the stairs. "Where are you going?"

Ding.

"I'll be back, dad. I'm just going to find Gus and Lassie!" Shawn held the "close doors" button down and they shut just as Henry reached the elevator. No sense worrying everyone if there was nothing wrong. He'd go downstairs, find the missing men and then return to the rooftop garden to marry the girl of his dreams.

Maybe they were just practicing some flash mob tap-dancing routine for the reception.  _Ya, because_ that's _something he could picture Gus planning, and_ of course _, Lassie would go along with it._ Somehow the ridiculous image that thought conjured wasn't making him feel any better about the situation. Shawn's stomach lurched with the movement of the elevator, and he was glad the short ride to the ground level was over. His previous uneasiness was quickly becoming full-fledged anxiety.

Shawn stepped out into the lobby, passed the receptionist and the sign that said "Spencer O'hara Wedding Upstairs." A cursory glance showed that the missing men were not in the lobby, so he pushed his way out the front doors. After looking both directions, he decided to check the parking lot first. He turned the corner and knew immediately that his fears were justified. This was not a simple case of wedding jitters. Two cell phones, he quickly identified as belonging to the missing men, were smashed to bits on the pavement and, more disturbingly, there was a small blood smear on the curb. A small slip of paper near the blood caught his eye, and Shawn bent to examine it without touching it. Two words were written in black ink, followed by a phone number.

He pulled the bright green decorative handkerchief from his pocket and snatched up the paper before the breeze could claim it. He looked up to see if he could see an vehicles leaving the venue, but the street was deserted. He had missed them! He'd known something was wrong and instead of acting, he'd allowed his best friends to be taken!

"Shawn! What do you think you're doing?" Henry shouted and he approached his crouching son. Shawn turned at the voice and shifted so his father could see what had his attention, the phones and the blood.

"I think you better go get Vick," he said.

He held up the note so his dad could read the ominous message written there:

_Nine Hours._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't own Psych.

Carlton Lassiter's thoughts were thick and slippery. He was having difficulty even forming a string of thought. As soon as something coherent began to form, it slid away into the oblivion. As a result, most of his thoughts came in the form of one word questions: what? how? where? why? He had no idea, therefore, how long he'd been sitting in the dark before his mind finally caught up to the present. The only thing keeping him upright was the fact that he was propped up against some sort of post with his hands behind him bound around it. Everything felt sluggish, and disconnected. I've been drugged, he thought.

That answered "how?" But left many other things unanswered. His head was swimming, and he kept blinking involuntarily, as if that action would somehow shine some light on the situation, both in the figurative and in the literal sense. What was the last thing he remembered?

O'hara's wedding. But no, not quite. He couldn't remember the actual ceremony at all. He remembered being at the venue. He remembered heading back to the parking lot to get Lily's backpack from the car. But that's where the recollection ended. He wasn't sure he'd even finished the errand.

He blinked a few more times, trying to ignore the feeling that he was missing something obvious. Maybe if he wasn't so wet and cold he could think better.  _Wait_ , he thought,  _why am I wet? I'm sitting in a puddle of water!_  There was probably less than an inch or two of water, but it was enough to sap him of his body heat. Not being able to see very well made him unaware of his surroundings, but now that he was more alert, he could distinctly hear the sound of more water rushing in from somewhere to his left and above.

He took inventory of himself. His head was pounding, but it felt more like a nasty hangover than a concussion. He was wearing a suit, so the wedding story could check out, if not for the fact that he wore suits most days. They'd even taken his watch and shoes, so he could only assume everything else he'd had on him was also confiscated. But whoever had taken him had used duct tape, so he had that to his advantage.

Carlton shifted so that the gap between his hands was at the edge of the square post and moved his wrists against the post. Almost immediately, he could feel the tape beginning to fray. He worked for another minute until he was able to rip the rest by forcing his arms apart. His wrists hurt, but he was free. And if he was free then he could figure out how to get the hell out of here.

He decided he start by trying to find a wall and work his way around to hopefully discover a way out. Not knowing what was in the room, Carlton decided to stay low to the ground. He picked an arbitrary direction, and shuffled forward on his hands and knees. The cool water relieved some of the burn in his wrists. He kept his pace slow, not wanting to accidentally meet the wall with his face at any great speed. He'd only crawled about four feet before his hand landed on something. He jumped back immediately, heart racing.

What was that? It almost felt like … a body. _Why am I freaking out?! I deal with dead bodies all the time,_  he tried to rationalize. Then again, finding a dead body in the room you were found in after you've been kidnapped was probably a bad omen.

He took a few calming breaths, and then tentatively put his hand back. This was definitely an arm under a sleeve. He followed the arm down to the wrist, and held his breath as he pressed two fingers to the pulse point. The skin was still warm and a strong steady pulse was beating beneath his fingers. He released the breath. That was a better omen.

He followed the arm back up to the elbow, his other hand finding the shoulder and he gave his new roommate a firm shake.

"Hey, pal. Wake up!" He said loud enough the other person could hear, but not so loud as to inform his kidnappers that he was awake. This elicited no response. "Come on! Wake up!"

He coughed when his voice cracked through the harsh whisper. He wasn't sure why he was so desperate. Though, if he were truly honest with himself, Carlton was scared. Waking up in a dark room with no memory of how he'd gotten there, his only company an unknown unconscious person. Maybe if he could wake them, they'd be able to figure out what was going on together.

Maybe a soft slap to the face was all his friend needed.

Lassiter misjudged where the head was and his hand came down right above the other person's hairless temple. To contrast with his own cold, wet fingers, this skin was warm and sticky. As grossed out as that made him, it did earn him a deep groan from the prone form.

"Ya, that's it," Lassiter said, rinsing his hand in the water around him, "Rise and shine."

The other figure didn't stir. Carlton was no longer able to keep the panic out of his voice.

"C'mon, I heard that grunt! Wake up!"

There was still no response.

He knew he shouldn't move someone with a head injury, but a voice in his head, Marlowe's probably, reminded him that a person could drown in only two inches of water. That was likely why this man hadn't been bound as Carlton had, the kidnappers were probably expecting him to drown before he'd ever get the chance to regain consciousness. Making a snap decision between brain damage and death for his unknown companion, Lassiter grabbed the other man around the chest and pulled him to the post and situated him in a mostly upright position.

"Who  _are_  you?" He asked, thinking out loud, not expecting an answer. "You're wearing a suit. So, probably one of the wedding party?"

That meant this person was potentially a friend. He thought about the bald head he'd accidentally touched earlier, and wondered if it was Guster. Most of him hoped it wasn't, and that Gus was with Shawn and Juliet trying to find him, but a small part of him selfishly hoped that it  _was_  Gus, so he wouldn't feel so alone.

"Stay there."

He stood, using the post to balance as he fought a dizzy spell, then returned to probing the dark room. He took cautious baby steps, hoping not to trip over anything, or  _anyone_ , else, and soon reached the wall. It was smooth and cold, and curved under his hands. He followed it towards the sound of water flowing in. He could tell, when he was nearly below it, that the water was coming in from high above his head, and he wouldn't be able to reach the opening to block it. Without standing directly under the deluge, he reached out his left arm to feel the wall behind in case it was hiding something useful. It wasn't.

He stepped around the offending waterfall and continued his course until he found himself roughly where he had started. He estimated the diameter of the room to be between eight and twelve feet across. There were no doors or windows or switches or knobs. Nothing. The way out must be above. They were going to drown.

He leaned against the wall and then slid down to his butt. Cold water splashed onto his lap and sent an involuntary shiver running through him. He stared into the blackness, hoping his eyes would eventually adjust. He couldn't remember ever experiencing such piercing darkness. He wasn't afraid of the dark, and he wasn't claustrophobic. But being stuck in this bunker? tank? in the pitch black was starting to get to him. It was like the dark was pressing in on him, making the tight space smaller, and making it hard to breathe. He felt vulnerable. He felt alone.

"I really wish you'd wake up," he muttered.

The other man didn't respond.


	3. Chapter 3

"Nine hours until what?" Shawn asked aloud for what must have been the seventh time in as many minutes. Minutes that were ticking away. It had taken Vick and Juliet's partner, Detective Warner, too long to contain the scene, without making a scene. Communication was slow. Vick went to tell Jules what happened. Detective Warner went to round up other officers that were in attendance to alert them to the situation. Henry was running damage control with the guests, who would likely be upset without answers, and they couldn't give them answers.

Shawn had been nominated to break the news to Marlowe. That had been awkward and painful. Marlowe had volunteered to call her sister-in-law Lauren, and she and Lily had disappeared into the venue's child care playroom.

After that, Shawn wasn't sure what to do with himself as time continued to pass, and had eventually made his way back to the bridal room.

He paced the halls, throwing anxious glances now and then at the door Karen Vick had disappeared behind to break the bad news to Jules. He'd tried to needle his way in, insisting that today was not their wedding day anymore, so it would be fine to see Jules in her dress. Shawn had never taken Vick to be the superstitious type, but she wouldn't budge on going in alone. He slid down the wall, wondering what was happening on the other side of that closed door.

He didn't have to wonder long. As soon as his butt hit the floor, the handle turned and the door swung open. Karen stared down at him for a moment, then pulled the door closed behind her. Her phone was against her ear, but she wasn't talking into it.

"I'd join you on the floor, but I paid a lot for this dress," she joked without cracking a smile. "Juliet is getting changed into something a bit more practical. I think it's time to tell you about-Yes, I'm still here."

She held up a finger as she said the last bit into the phone. Shawn watched her retreating back as she disappeared around a corner to finish her call in privacy.

"Well, the good news is your hotel was able to postpone your honeymoon, with a hefty fee, of course. And if you don't call them within 10 days, to reschedule they'll charge you whether you go or not. But it's something at least. The bad news-"

"Wait? That was the good-"

"The bad news," Henry spoke over his son, "is you've got a bunch of irate wedding guests. But at least they're finally leaving."

Shawn took the hand his father offered and rose to his feet.

"Thanks, dad," he said in a seriousness that his voice rarely held, "really. I don't know if I could have faced them. What did you tell them?"

"I didn't, Detective Warner took care of that while I played travel agent. It's hard to explain away the obvious police presence. Even at a cop's wedding. I thought we should tell them that someone called in a bomb threat. Fastest way to clear a building. But Detective Warner told them there was an altercation in the parking lot and that for their safety they needed to vacate the premises."

"Did they buy it?"

"I don't care. They're leaving." He glanced down at his watch and frowned. "Now we can quit wasting time and find them." Henry was clenching and un-clenching his fists, bouncing subconsciously from the balls of his feet. "Where is the chief? Is she still talking to Juliet? Have you figured out anything more about that phone and note?"

Shawn wondered if this is how his dad had acted when he had been kidnapped. Then he remembered how unpleasant Lassiter had been the weeks following, and knew that he must have. Henry Spencer was a doer. He didn't like to be idle. Shawn secretly hoped he inherited some of that. Maybe he could channel it into finding his friends before the deadline.

"Nine hours until what?" Shawn asked again, stealing a glance at his own watch, and then amending, "Eight hours."

Henry shook his head in defeat.

"We need to talk," Karen said, taking brisk steps towards them, Detective Warner in tow. She knocked lightly on the bridal room door, "O'Hara, are you decent in there? We're coming in."

The four of them shuffled in. Juliet was sitting on a plush sofa, no longer in her wedding gown, but wearing a very pretty sundress that Shawn had never seen before. How beautiful she looked was quickly lost as he took in the silent sobs that wracked her body. Her face contorted as soon as she saw him, he'd never seen such despair in her countenance. Shawn quickly stooped to the ottoman next to her and rubbed some rebellious mascara off of her wet cheek. His other hand closed around her folded hands on her lap.

"We'll find them," he promised, his eyes searching hers. Juliet matched his gaze, and he could see more tears threatening to spill over the moment she shut her eyes.

She sniffed and shook her head adamantly, "I don't know Shawn. There's something you don't know."

And now that she mentioned it, Shawn recalled what Vick had been saying before she answered the phone-that it was time to tell him about something.

"What is it?" He asked, turning to look up at the chief, "What don't I know?"

"Officer Hagin," Juliet said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"The Officer that died in the swimming accident?" They'd gone to his funeral last month. He hadn't even been killed in the line of duty, but the fact that he was an officer of the law was enough to effect the whole community. Flags with thin blues lines were still being flown in his honor all over the city. The community had rallied around his young wife and daughters. The whole ordeal had been heartbreaking, and was a tragic reminder that everything can end at any time. Juliet had taken it pretty hard, the entire department had.

"We have evidence that suggests that it might not have been an accident," Karen answered.

"What kind of evidence?" Henry asked.

Detective Warner held up a plastic bag. The two Spencer men leaned in to get a better look at its contents. It held a slip of paper with the words "Nine Hours" written in untidy script. Just one glance was enough for Shawn to tell that although this note was written by the same hand as the one he had found himself, it was indeed a different note. The message was closer to the top, the "e" a little flatter.

"We found this under the wiper on Officer Hagin's patrol car the day after we found his body on the beach," The detective explained, "Though nothing about his death looked like foul play at the time, the Chief thought it was odd enough that we shouldn't immediately discard the note. Then the autopsy came back, saying that he had drowned in fresh water."

"Why didn't you tell that to the media? Why did you say it was an accidental drowning? Why didn't you bring in Psychfrancisco?" Shawn demanded. There was a cop killer out there, and most of his friends were in law enforcement. And now two of those friends had been taken by the same person who had killed Hagin.

"We still couldn't definitively connect the note to his death. We needed more information before we brought mere speculation to the public," the chief answered.

"More information? So, you were just sitting around waiting for someone else to be taken? Waiting for another note to show up and prove your hypothesis? Waiting to find more bodies on the beach? Bodies of your friends?" Shawn could feel his face getting hot, his heart racing as he spat out his inquiries.

A hand on his elbow instantly calmed him, and he looked down at Juliet as she said his name. That one syllable carried the weight of he world. His anger melted away leaving only scared desperation in it's place.

"Sorry," he said, looking up to meet the chief's eyes, "I just... These are our friends and we have no idea what is happening to them right now."

"We're going to find them," Chief Vick vowed, knowing that she shouldn't make promises, but the hope was for herself as much as for the others. "Last time we didn't know we were on a clock. We didn't even know Officer Hagin was missing. This time is different."

"This time is different," Henry cut in, "this time they took two people. I hope that doesn't effect the time limit."

That grave statement hung in the air for a few moments, and then, as if compelled by some unseen force, they all moved as one to get to work to bring Gus and Lassiter home.


End file.
